Elegy from Another World

The repair work on the Dresden was proceeding simultaneously with the research on the Invisible Ark, like efforts being made at both ends of an hourglass. Inside the ship, the sparks of welding and the roar of engineering machinery raged day and night, damaged structures were replaced or reinforced one by one, and system modules were recalibrated. Progress was slow but steady, and the ship's condition had been restored to 31%, with at least the core functional areas and life support largely back to normal, giving everyone a brief respite.

Meanwhile, at a distant node in the network, the Singularity Observatory, like a patient archaeologist, continued to scan and analyze the massive, invisible ark. Repeated examinations of the ark's hull and scattered debris confirmed that they possessed no information storage capabilities; they appeared more like highly advanced building materials or energy conductors than recording media. This prevented us from tracing the ark's origins or ownership on a material level.

During the research, an unexpected discovery caught their attention. In the wreckage area surrounding the Ark, the exploration team found a peculiar energy aggregate. It resembled a cluster of tangible, weighty data points in an extremely unstable state. When a small amount of energy was injected into it, the points briefly coalesced into a blurry humanoid outline, but then dissipated, exhibiting no consciousness or personality traits. Further analysis revealed that this aggregate had a weak resonance with the energy frequency of the pleasure converter, and its structural complexity far exceeded that of the mechanical brain replicated on the Prayer Star, resembling a highly refined, depersonalized consciousness carrier or energy battery.

This discovery has left us even more perplexed. Some of the Ark's technological features, such as the prototype of this data life form, vaguely resemble Scranton technology, but its overall style is completely different from the Scranton legacy we found in the miniature galaxy remnants, as if it came from another completely independent and equally highly advanced civilization.

"It seems the secrets hidden within the network extend far beyond Scranton's family," I said to my team members, staring at the data report. The mystery deepened, but the exploration could not stop.

As the clock ticked through another repair cycle, and the Dreil's overall repair progress painstakingly climbed to 77 percent, the Singularity Observatory transmitted an even more groundbreaking discovery. The outline of an obelisk had been detected in a relatively flat area on the Ark's surface.

This obelisk is a physical object, cast from a dark, non-reflective, unknown metal, its surface covered with fine wear marks, as if it had traversed countless years in the world of the net. Its towering and solemn form exudes a serene tranquility. Most astonishingly, its surface is covered with densely packed text, crafted with incredibly precise precision. Database comparisons revealed that these characters originate from numerous known and unknown language systems, yet their content is remarkably consistent—they are all names.

Thousands, even more names, are silently and solemnly engraved on this physical obelisk.

In the laboratory, I, Edseysis, Zoymem, Sakozun, G. Laura (restored by Cone), Naa, M. Tini Guquela, and R. Mutek, who was connected remotely, all gathered in front of the enlarged image of the inscription.

"Are there any patterns in these names?" Zoimem stared at the unfamiliar characters, his dragon tail swaying uneasily.

Naa quickly performed cross-referencing: "No obvious ordering pattern was found, such as time, race, or cultural sphere. They seem to be... random, or rather, arranged equally together."

"Could it be the builders' list? Or... the passengers' list?" G. Laura guessed.

"It doesn't seem like it," Sarkozyn's cool voice rang out. "If it were a list, there would be a more systematic way of recording it, instead of carving it so densely and indiscriminately on the monument. Moreover, the location and shape of this monument... it's more like a... memorial."

Edseysis mused, "A memorial...in the void, carried by an invisible ark, a monument inscribed with names..."

M-Tini's vines curled gently: "I felt a...great sadness and silence."

R-Mutter's thoughts slowly emerged, carrying a data-driven calm: [Based on all information, the most probable conclusion is: This is a grave. An invisible collective monument navigating the network. These names belong to the deceased.]

grave.

This word plunged the entire laboratory into a solemn silence.

A ghostly ark sailing through the world of the web, a metal monument engraved with the names of nameless people. Why is it here? Who built it? What stories lie behind the owners of these names? Did they die in disaster, war, or some grand sacrifice?

"Perhaps..." I slowly broke the silence, "what we discovered was not a base, not a laboratory, but a tomb adrift in time and space. It carries not technology or secrets, but memories and mourning."